Illustrative Review of 2013

Mason Half Marathon

Over the past couple of months, I have been thrilled with my progress with the heart rate training.  In spite of the DNF at Flatrock, my running has been going better than ever.  I ran an 8 hour "not a race" event on the trails in early October and got in a full 30 miles, feeling great for all but miles 20-24 (hydration/nutrition issues, fixed them and finished strong).   One week later, I ran a road 5k and came very close to a PR.  What?!?  How could I PR a 5k a) on no speedwork in a year and b) one week after a 30-mile trail run?  Hmm...wheels started turning.  Seemed like it'd be a good time to take a stab at my half marathon PR which I ran in 2008.  I started hunting to see what race I could find that would suit me.  As luck would have it, there was one in Mason, OH the same day as an anniversary dinner for Aaron's aunt and uncle in Harrison, OH...only 40 minutes away.  Hotel reservation was made, RSVP was sent, and I registered for the Mason Half Marathon.

The 10 days leading up to the race were a bit of a mess.  Work was even more nuts than usual, I strained my back lifting a huge dog, the girls had a soccer tourney out of town, and the one day I could have gotten in a run, we had nasty winds and rain.  So I got in a quick 3 miles on Saturday just to make sure the legs remembered how to run, then we jumped in the van for the drive.  We literally made it to packet pick-up minutes before they packed up the bibs and shirts.  I checked out the running store that hosted packet pick up (reminded me of IRC) and bought a fantastic orange running cap (perfect for alerting hunters to the fact that I am NOT a deer), some calf sleeves, and a cheap pair of throw-away running gloves.  I wore all of that lovely newness on race day.  

Race forecast was perfect:  38 at the start, clear, no rain, no wind and it was expected to be in the low 40's by the time I'd be finishing.   I planned to wear my tried and true Ink n Burn shorts, my long-sleeved IRC shirt, new calf sleeves, orange cap, and the throw-away gloves and sweatshirt.  I didn't know the area at all, but the race description was that it was a flat course.  I had checked out last year's results so I knew that it should be a small race, less than 500.  This really sounded like a perfect race for my PR attempt.  I'd have no external excuses for a bad race.

I didn't sleep well Saturday night.  I think it was a combination of the upper back strain and my excitement about race day.  In spite of that, I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to go.  It didn't hurt that due to the time change, I had an extra hour in my favor.  I downed my breakfast, packed up my gear and Aaron drove me to the staging area at the Mason High School.  We hung out in the school cafeteria until it was time to start the race, so nice to have a warm place right at the starting line! I loved this!

Five minutes before the race started, I joined the crowd outside, and walked less than 50 meters to the starting area.  The starter made a few announcements and we were off.  No hoopla, just the starting gun.  The 5k'ers and half marathoners all started together but even with that, it was a very manageable crowd.  It was a bit of a shuffle to the timing mat but I was running at pace as soon as I crossed it.  No bottleneck of racers to fight through, just run your pace.  Ah, the joy of a small race.

My plan for the race was to run it solely based on effort.  I was wearing my heart rate monitor and Garmin but I turned off the heart rate alarm and had the display set so that I couldn't see my pace, only total distance, total time, and current heart rate.  The only feedback I got on pace was at each mile when it would beep and the display would show that mile's pace.  Most of the race, I just didn't look.  The first mile though, I ran 9:29.  Ummm, unexpected.  Faster than expected, but running on effort and it felt good.  The first mile was mainly along a 4-lane road, but traffic was pretty sparse at that hour and we were able to run in the far right lane for most of it.  Just before the first mile ended  we made a turn into a lovely city park.  Gentle hills, gorgeous fall landscapes and a couple of ponds.  Just after the first mile, I stopped long enough to shed and discard my sweatshirt.  I saw my favorite spectator in the park:  a great blue heron about 20 feet off of the pedestrian path that was fishing at the water's edge.  He just watched the runners go by, we didn't seem to bother him in the least but I thought it was awesome to see HIM. I've never been that close to a heron, good thing I'd left my phone behind or I'd have been tempted to get his picture.  Second mile in 10:36, not bad considering I spent almost a minute fighting to get out of my sweatshirt.

Things just settled into a rhythm at that point.  I knew that the pace would need to be faster than comfortable to get that PR so I just kept pushing at what I though was my limit for the distance.  We finished the 3 mile loop in the park, passed back by the high school as we headed out on the out and  back that would take us by Kings Island.  We were running on sidewalks along a 4-lane city street but it wasn't bad at all.  It's a nice residential area, it reminded me of Carmel.  There were a few spectators out, probably family members of other runners, and a couple of folks had set up music for us.  For the most part though, it was just the runners with an aid station every 3 miles.  The leader of the half marathon came by as I was at 4.5 miles, he would have still had about 4 miles to go himself.  Second place was a couple minutes behind him, then it became a steady stream of runners heading back for another loop of the park.

I took a gel at 5 miles and tried to remember how much farther it was to the turnaround.  Was the turnaround at the halfway point?  We got to 6.5 miles and I still couldn't see the turnaround.  I wish I'd known when to expect it because it did bother me a bit not knowing.  Oh, well.  Just follow the runner in front until they turn us back to the start.  Keep pushing.  It's getting tougher but that's expected.  The course really is pretty flat, just a few small rollers.  Now and then there'd be a slight grade but all very doable and to my liking.  I leap-frogged with a  few runners, but for the most part was passing more than being passed.  Feeling strong, but there was a part of me that worried I'd start to falter after 7 or 8 miles.  It's happened before, was this going to be a repeat?

The dullest part of the course was the part that paralleled Kings Island.  I think we were running through/near the big tennis pavilion where they hold pro tourneys.  Parking lots are b.o.r.i.n.g. even if you're running on nicely groomed pedestrian trails beside them.  Ugh.  Finally made it to the turnaround there though.  I think that was at about 7.5 miles.  I knew there was still a long way to go,  but that was a big mental boost.  Ah, time to go back home!  All of the rest of the route would be  newly familiar territory and I knew it was all easy terrain.  No surprises (not that there'd been any, but there could have been!) from here on.  Still holding my pace right at the 10:00 pace, give or take a few seconds.  I took my second gel at mile 9.  I was feeling good but figured at that point, I may as well eat it so it would be on board for my final push.  At mile 10, I spotted a portolet and took a very quick break.  No lines for potty breaks are awesome!  Took care of business and back at the running without any time wasted in line.  Did I mention I love small races?

At this point, I had 3 miles to go and started doing the math to see what I needed to do to get that PR.  It was going to be very close and I knew that I needed to bring it up a notch to hit it.  Mentally, I was completely in this race.  Physically, I was getting tired.  Was I 50k tired?  Not even close, so keep pushing.  It definitely was becoming a mental race for me at that point.   I was trying to figure out how the final loop through the park would go.  Our first loop through it had been 3 miles, but we still had a mile to go to even get to the park.  I tried to visualize the path but couldn't see how they'd make the loop a mile short.  Was this course going to be long?  Have to run to the finish, however long it might be, so I keep plugging along.   When I start to feel my strength wane, I think of the bracelets I'm wearing.  One is for Jen, a member of my online running forum who is fighting her own health battle.  Another is for TJ, a young man with epilepsy and CP.  I also think of Kylie, my young buddy with I Run 4 who has had 3 open heart surgeries.  These friends are my motivation and my inspiration.  They are my heroes.  I draw on their strength and want to honor them with my effort today.

As we got into the park for the second loop, we approached what had been our first aid station. I saw that they HAD changed the route from the first loop. There was a right hand turn that I'd not even seen and they had us take it.  Several cheers from the volunteers at the aid station as they reminded us that we only had 2 miles to go and I went ZOOM down a nice downhill.  Homestretch.  Keep it up.  I checked my time.  I needed to average under 10 minute miles to get that PR.  My legs felt like they were moving in slow motion though.  I'm asking them for more, but it's like that dream where you're trying to run faster but you're barely moving.  Go, legs, please just go a little faster!  Mile 12 in 10:09.  No, gotta go faster than that!  Passed the gal that was in front of me,  passed another, can finally see the school.  Mile  13 in 9:52.  I'm so close. 

I need to cover the last tenth in under a minute to get the sure PR.  Oh, no, we have to go all the way around the outer edge of the parking lot rather than taking a direct cut to the finish.  I start to feel defeat, I can't do that, it's too far too fast.  I feel a flicker of doubt.  Then I dig deep and decide I'm not going down without a fight to the very end.  Just go. Just go.  Just GO.  

I see Aaron, he's cheering and taking pictures but I don't even look at him, smile, or wave.  I have a job to do and all of my focus is on that job.  I'm glad he is there, but I can't show it.  I see the race clock.   Aaron is running alongside still taking pictures.  I see 2:10:50.  I know that my previous PR is in the 2:11 range, but I can't remember how many seconds.  Can I make it?  I'm giving all that I have as I drive toward the finish.  I get myself all the way through the finish chute before I hit my Garmin to turn it off.  I see 2:11:12 and I am 90% certain that is a PR.  As Aaron runs up to me, I have my hands in the air in triumph.  I am celebrating the PR that I think I've earned.  Elation.  Smiles.  Great big giant happy smiles.  A few minutes later, my official results are up and I compare them to my old PR.  2008 time:  2:11:27.  Today's time:  2:11:09.9  PR, baby, oh, yeah.

Mile/pace/avg HR
 1   9:30  158
 2  10:36  165  (shedding of the sweatshirt)
 3   9:51  169
 4   9:56  168
 5   9:41  167
 6   9:49  170
 7  10:01  168
 8  10:02  168
 9  10:16  166
10  10:20  166  (bathroom stop)
11  10:11  166
12  10:09  166
13   9:52  170
0.13  1:02 (8:04/mi)  175

13.13 mi  2:11:09.9  166

Not What I Expected

The blast of an airhorn to call the crowd’s attention to an approaching runner.  The clang of cowbells as the runner draws near.  The enthusiastic cheers of the crowd.  High-fiving the “severed arm” that hangs at the finish line.  Receiving the buckle that celebrates the completion of a hard-run race.  This is the conclusion I expected.  This was the reward I worked so hard to achieve.  148 runners got to experience all of those things on that day.  I wasn’t one of them. 

Instead, I was back at my campsite 5 hours earlier than I should have been.  I was chilled and desperately wanted to get the campfire going.  Just like the rest of my day’s efforts, I couldn’t seem to get the spark to catch.  I managed short-lived flames and too much smoke, but the wood wouldn’t burn.  I choked back frustrated tears as I attempted over and over again to get that fire to burn.  After an hour of no success, I sat in my camp chair and debated what to do.  My friend was still out on the course, running and fighting for the finish.  I wanted to be there to cheer her in but could I hold it together?  As I sat in my camp, I could hear the airhorn a quarter mile away announcing runners’ approaches and each time it brought a new wave of tears.  Yes, I admit it, I cried.  I was jealous.  I was angry.  I was sad.  I was bewildered.  I was raw with disappointment.  That day and every day in the 4 days since, I’ve gone over the details but I still don’t know how my day went so wrong.

Race morning started according to plan:  up early for a light breakfast, walk over to the staging area to check-in and toss my drop-bag on the pile.  Nervously, I waited for the start and wondered how much rain we were going to get.  The thunder had started while we were getting checked in, but the rain itself held off until right before the RD chased us out of the shelter for the ¼ mile jog to the start line.  While we stood at the starting line counting down the final minutes to the race, the rain intensified and a cold wind drove it even harder.  No big deal: I’ve run in rain before.  Hell, I’ve run in a derecho and lived to tell the tale, what’s a little rain?  I should have been asking “what’s 5 hours of rain”?

The first half mile or so of the race is on the road, then we dive into the woods to start the trail.  As planned and expected, I was nearly bringing up the rear.   Since I was pacing with my heart rate monitor, I assumed I’d run a very even pace and likely start passing runners after 8-10 miles like I have learned I do.  The course is absolutely gorgeous, but also brutal.  Rocky bluffs and outcroppings, small boulders to jump over and around, and stunning overlooks of the lake.  The rain continued.  The wind continued, although the trees helped to block it a good bit of the time.  The first mile went slowly as the conga line sorted itself out and we navigated our way through the Devil’s Butt Crack, the most bottle-necked portion of the course.  This mile being slow didn’t worry me, all according to plans.  The second mile would be better.  Except it wasn’t.  I knew what pace I needed to maintain to make it to the turnaround before the cut-off and so far, both miles were significantly behind pace.  My first hints of concern started to brew as the third mile was no better.

I kept doing the math as the miles ticked by, knowing that I was falling farther and farther behind pace.  I had never run on a trail this technical and wasn’t prepared for my pace to be so much slower than usual.  I was now running in last place with no other runner in sight ahead of me.  The elevation was a non-issue, it was the rocks in the trail and the boulders to climb over in those first few miles that were my battle.  Even as I was approaching 10 minutes behind cutoff pace, I thought that the route would even out and I’d be able to make up time.  Then we got to the mud. 

The mud was a slippery, sloppy mess.  I couldn’t get traction.  It sucked the strength out of my legs.  It wasn’t just mud though, it was mud with huge hunks of rock hidden within it.  You didn’t know until your foot hit the surface whether your footing would be on solid ground or slippery goo because it all was covered in muck.  I fell.  I got up and ran/slogged/dragged my sorry self a bit further.  Fell again.  Almost fell more times than I can even count.   The rain washed the worst of the mud off of me, just for me to fall in it again.

By the time I was at the 6-mile mark, I was pretty sure that this was going to be a DNF unless a miracle happened.   I was not going to make the cutoff time for the halfway point, I was exhausted, I was cold, and I didn’t want to be struggling back to the start line after sunset since I hadn’t brought my headlamp.  When I got to the 25k turnaround, I asked the aid station workers if I could turn around there even though I was supposed to be in it for 50k.  They seemed very puzzled by the question and told me it was up to the RD.  Since he obviously wasn’t there, I’m not sure what I was supposed to make of that.  It was either turn around there or resolve to make it to the 50k turnaround because there was no other way off of the course.  They informed me that the RD had extended the race cutoff by an hour.  That gave me an extra 30 minutes to make it to the halfway point.  Fine, I decided to keep going but I was still about 90% sure that I’d call it a day at the turnaround.

The course continued to get sloppier.  I got colder.  I fell again, but that last time it was scary.  I very nearly pitched head over heels down a steep slope that led to the lake.  Honestly, I think that was my decision point.  My coordination was trash, I was fatigued, and my fingers were blue.  I wasn’t even halfway done with the course.  How could I possibly pull it together for another 6-7 hours?  The next obstacle was a waterfall that had a steep rock-covered slope down to and out of the crossing.  My legs were trembling as I struggled to make my way through it without falling and breaking myself.  Second most scary part of the course.  Did I mention it was still raining?  Not as hard, but still raining and still cold.

As I was seeing other runners running back towards me and on to the finish line behind me, they all seemed to be in good spirits.  I’d fake my way through the greetings with a smile and a cheerful “good job, runner” or answer their questions with an “I’m still moving forward”, but inside I was bewildered by how they could look so energetic and happy.  I felt like garbage.  I saw a couple of guys who told me that I could still make it to the turnaround in time but I’d have to “book it”.  Couldn’t they tell that I was already in my “book it” mode?  This was all that I had, there was no secret reserve to tap into. 

I pulled into the aid station at the turnaround after the cutoff.  It turns out, I was only 11 minutes behind the cutoff.  The volunteers actually encouraged me to go back and try to finish.  I couldn’t do it.  The thought of facing the return trip terrified me.  I was practically crying with fear that I’d have to climb that rock waterfall again, that I’d have to slide my way through those endless miles of mud that would likely be worse than the first time, that I’d really take a bad fall and there’d be nobody behind me to find me until they sent out a search party, or that I’d be so slow that sunset would beat me to the finish and I’d be left to feel my way home in the dark.  I dropped out because I was afraid.  I dropped out because I was exhausted and no longer trusted my legs to carry me safely home.  I dropped out because my hands were blue and I didn’t know if that meant I was flirting with hypothermia.  I dropped out because none of this race had gone according to my plans and expectations and I didn’t have a back-up plan.

I hitched a ride back to the campground with the volunteer who was hauling the drop-bags back to the start.  I dejectedly walked from the staging area back to my camp.  After a few hours, I did make it back to cheer in the runners who had succeeded where I’d failed.  I watched one runner cross the finish, then decided to wait a hundred yards before the finish because I was still too upset to witness the celebration.  I did stay long enough to cheer in every last runner, admiring their perseverance, their determination, and wondering how they were different from me.  I still don’t know. 

What do I know? I know that I ran the toughest 15 miles I’ve ever run.  I know that I can quit and not BE a quitter.  I know that sometimes the smart decision may not be the easy one.  I know that I can do so many things today that I couldn’t do a year ago.  I know that I can try again.  I know that next time, and there will be a next time, I will bring a headlamp, warm gear, and gloves because come hell or high water, I will fight my way across the finish line.

 

My 2013 Western States 100 Report

An amazing race was held yesterday in California: the Western States 100.  I did not run it.  My friend, Ben, did.  Here is my report of how the event went.

Friday

Gleefully stalk Facebook to see the pictures posted by Ben's crew of their pre-race adventures. Such beautiful terrain! The forecast looks to be a hot one. I read Ben's pre-race report: it sounds like he is in a good place mentally, which I'm guessing is as important as the physical in an ultra race like this.  I wouldn't know, I've never run this distance! We watch Unbreakable: The Western States 100 for the 4th or 5th time.   I can't begin to comprehend what he is about to start. I'm in awe.

Saturday

8:20 am, EDT:  I wake up.  A millisecond later, I realize that the race has already started and I missed having one last chance to wish Ben good luck! I scramble to Facebook for any info.  There are a few pictures from the starting line, now we just wait for him to roll into the checkpoints for updates. 

9:00 am, EDT: I've gleaned all that I can from Facebook, it'll be a while until Ben hits the first aid station. I drag my lazy butt out of bed.  Ben's been running for an hour. I'm such a slacker. Get breakfast, coffee, back to Facebook.  Steph reports she'll be posting updates on Twitter. Dammit! I swore I'd never have a Twitter account.  Signed up for one so I can keep track of Ben.  This old lady doesn't even know how to tweet...time to learn!

11:00 am, EDT: I'm getting a late start, but I head out to do my own run of the day.  It's a cutback week for me, so I only have 10 miles to do. A tenth of what Ben is doing. Again, I'm such a slacker!  Aaron has been tracking Ben so he is told to text me updates as they come in. I don't know anyone else running the race, but I ask him to monitor a couple of other runners whose names I recognize:  Timothy Olsen, Gordie Ainsley, Hal Koerner, and Catra Corbett.

11:40, EDT: I arrive at Brown County State Park and immediately check for text messages.  Aaron has reports for me on Ben, Gordie, and Catra, hooray!  (Hal and Timothy had already checked in to the first aid station before I left home.) I head out for my own run.  Aaron sends me a couple more updates and I'm excited to hear that Ben is doing well. It sounds like he is running smart and is starting to pass a few folks.  I finish my run knowing that Ben still has a long day and night ahead of him. Wow.

Over the course of the afternoon, we hit the "refresh" button dozens of times as we anxiously wait for updates.  The iPad is constantly tuned to www.wser.org so we can be ready for updates as soon as they come in.  Aaron tries to predict which legs are the tougher ones based on the leaders' paces.  We see that an early leader for the men dropped at mile 47.8 and the drop list is getting longer as the day gets hotter.  Steph reports its hot, REALLY hot: 108*. Oh my yuck. Poor Ben. 

We eat supper. Still tracking.  Timothy Olsen wins the race.  Looks like Ainsley hasn't moved out of his aid station for a while.  Koerner drops at mile 78. Ben is still making progress.  Frantically searching Twitter and Facebook for updates.  

11:30 pm, EDT: I'm starting to get sleepy, we decide to watch an episode of Game of Thrones. I want to stay up as late as I can,  as though somehow my being awake is important to Ben.  Maybe it's just that I feel guilty that I can go to sleep if I want.

Sunday

12:40 am, EDT:  Episode is over, my eyes are fighting to close.  I head to bed, check for more updates and call it a night a bit after 1 am.  Ben is still moving, I'm glad that he has Steph running with him for company.

1:40 am, EDT: I wake up, hit refresh. No news. Back to sleep.

4:00 am, EDT: Wake up again, hit refresh. Yes! More progress! I'm so excited to see he's passed through a couple more aid stations! Not excited enough to stay awake though. Zzz....

7:30 am, EDT:  My alarm goes off, time to get ready for another run.  Ainsley and Catra are confirmed to have dropped out.  Of the runners I was tracking, one won the race, 3 dropped out, and Ben is still running.  I'm torn between staying home to continue tracking or going running.  Aaron promises to update me so I head out, at least this is a short run so I should be home in time for his finish.

9:30 am, EDT: Aaron texts me that Ben has passed through 93.5 miles. I stop running just long enough to read the text, then back at it.  He's really going to finish this. Amazing.

10:50 am, EDT: I'm heading for home, hope I get there in time to catch the finish!

10:56 am, EDT: Aaron texts me again that Ben has now passed through 98.7 miles. He has 1.3 miles to go!!  I had to pull off the road to check the text.  While I was parked, I quickly checked Facebook to see that all of my BARA friends are excitedly cheering him in for the last leg. I get weepy, this is so incredible and I'm not even running! 

I get home and ask Aaron if he's figured out how to get the live feed of the finish to work.  He hasn't, apparently it isn't online. A friend on Facebook lets me know that the Western States Facebook page is showing video clips of every finisher.  Right as I access that, Aaron announces "He's done!" Facebook feed explodes with congrats and I find his finish video. Amazing. Inspiring. Happy. Crying. 

Summary: Ben ran a long time, covered 100 miles, and traversed mountains, canyons, and rivers in near-record heat: the second hottest running of this race.  In that same time frame I woke up, ran, ate lunch, did housework, ran errands, ate dinner, watched tv, went to bed for a good night's sleep, woke up, and ran again.  

Ben, you are a beast!  You worked hard for this and I'm completely thrilled that you had this adventure.  Thank you for taking us along for the run, it was inspiring!  Enjoy the recovery, you've earned a few days of rest. :)

Dances With Dirt Gnawbone 50k

I ran my first 50k last weekend.  Can you believe that?  I was there and I still can’t quite wrap my mind around it!  I’m amazed, thrilled, and so very proud of myself.  It’s difficult to put all of the feelings into words but at the moment, I feel absolutely invincible.

As race week approached, I was on top of the world.  The taper left me full of energy and the anticipation was just about more than I could stand.  No fear of race day, I just wanted to be there and get it started.  I had trouble sleeping the weekend before:  going over my outfit choices, what would I pack in my hydration pack, would I use a drop-bag, and just in general wondering what it was going to be like.  I felt excitement, but no fear.  My training this spring had me confident and well-prepared.  Fortunately, as the week went on my sleep improved so I got to race day well-rested and well-fueled.

The 50M and 50k races started at 6:15 am, just late enough that the trail was visible and we didn’t need headlamps.  I planned to start the race with a friend and we’d see how the day went.  We had both trained with heart rate monitors and planned to stick to that through the race.   I was giddy at the starting line, I just couldn’t wait to get going.  The race started and we were doing it.  We were going to run 31 miles before the day was done.  Unbelievable.

The race started out on a gravel road that quickly dumped us onto the muckiest horse trail I’ve ever seen.  It’s described as “shoe-sucking” because that’s exactly what the mud does to runners who haven’t tied their laces tight enough.  We were glad that this year we were running the ultra distance:  that meant we got to be some of the first to tackle the horse trail.  By the time we’d hit it last year during the half marathon, it was a swamp!  It was still nasty, but not quite as bad.  We had to walk most of this because the effort of traversing the mud was enough to push us up and out of our heart rate zones.  Beep beep beep!

Eventually, we ended up on a single track trail. Ahh, that’s more like it!  We settled into a more reasonable pace once the mud and slop was gone.  As we got to our 4^th mile, we heard fast feet coming up behind us and moved to the side to let the faster runner pass.  We asked if he was running the relay (they started after us).  Hhe replied no and asked  what mile we were on.  We told him 4 and he said he was on mile 9:  he’d been with a group that had gotten lost already!  I can’t even imagine how demoralizing that must have been to have already run 5 extra miles that early in the race.  Ugh, I felt awful for him!  And we resolved not to let that happen to us!

I am not familiar with the trails that we ran on at that point so events there are a blur to me: we took a gel at mile 6, ran by a lake, passed a girl that looked like she was on the verge of a DNF (she didn’t), and obeyed our heart rate monitors.  I was feeling great:   legs were good, I was breathing easily, we wondered how our friends were doing, and the miles ticked by. 

At about mile 9, we got to the Hesitation Point aid station.  This brought me to trails I knew, so I was actually a bit disappointed that we took the logging road rather than the trail.  It was the easier path of the two, but I’d been looking forward to familiar terrain.  Not to fear though, it was only a mile or so until the road got us back to that trail and I was happy to be in an area I knew.  These felt like easy miles to me, both physically and mentally.  After this section though, I again have trouble remembering what happened when. 

There was an incredible aid station with music and the most divine orange slices.  We leap-frogged with a trio of runners until we eventually left them behind.  We heard voices but couldn’t tell if they were in front of or behind us.   One of my favorite things was getting to see our friend who was running the 50 mile race:  he was on his second lap as we were on our first and he was WINNING!  He looked great, chatted for a bit as we climbed up a crazy-steep hill, then he asked us to holler when second place came through and he was back to his race.  (Second place didn’t come by us for more than an hour!)  We went off-trail and had to claw our way through mud to find roots and rocks to pull ourselves up the hill.  That was stupid crazy fun. 

I knew there was going to be an awful set of stairs before we got to the Nature Center.  I’d not seen them before, so I was picturing the worst.  Happily, I didn’t find them nearly as bad as the ones at McCormick’s Creek.  I’m not sure if that was because of better pacing, better conditioning, or race-day magic.  Whatever it was, I was thrilled!  What I wasn’t so thrilled by was the pavement.  Once we got to the Nature Center, we ran on pavement for over a mile.  I vaguely remembered that area from last year’s half, but during the half you are only on pavement for a short distance.  I didn’t know that we’d be on it so long, so I was driving my running partner crazy because I knew that around each and every bend we were about to turn back onto the trail.  Ugh…that section was horrid for so many reasons.  The pavement hurt my feet, but we needed to take advantage of the smooth surface to make up some time.  Awful.  I just wanted to be back on the softer trail surface, even if it would mean a slower pace.

We finally got to the aid station that marked the return to the trail.  I grabbed a couple more M&M’s, a pretzel, and an orange slice and we were back on the dirt surface.  Aaaahhh….I remember thinking that I really didn’t feel any worse than I had at mile 9 or 10.  That wasn’t going to last much longer.  The hard-packed dirt trail soon gave way to more horse trail slop.  That mud seemed to suck the last drop of energy out of me.  I couldn’t wait to get that mud behind me.  Suddenly,  I was so mind-numbingly  tired.  We were at mile 27 (distance PR!) and in hindsight, I think this was more of a mental wall than a physical one.  There was some significant physical pain (my right big toe of all things), but I think that knowing how close we were to the finish was somehow giving us permission to acknowledge the fatigue.  Once we let that creep in, it took center stage.

We were looking forward to getting back to the single track that would dump us out at the top of the abandoned ski slope.  Every time we’d see a break in the trees, we’d get excited and ask “is that it?”  So exciting once we really were there!  Then we looked down the hill.  Unlike the muddy horse trail at the beginning of the race, this time we were some of the last runners to cross this section.  Most of the 50k, marathon, half, and 10k runners had already come through.  All of the vegetation had been stripped from the mud as the other racers had slid, skidded, and slopped their way down that initial drop.  We hoped to remain upright, so we scoped out a good spot to make our descent.  My friend went first:  she grabbed a low-hanging tree branch and used it like a rope to rappel down the drop-off.  I gave her enough room so that the branch wouldn’t whip back and hit me, then used the same branch to follow. 

The old ski slope was overgrown with waist-high grasses, briars, and saplings, but the previous runners had beat down a pretty good path for us.  We were so tired.  It was only a mile from here to the finish and we were just about completely spent.  A short briar bush was in the path and my friend plowed right over the top of it.  Why?  It was too much work to go around it!  We both found that hysterical and had a good laugh, which gave us a bit of a boost.  Not a lot, but every bit helped!

The course took us down the ski hill, across a field, then down to the creek.  We had been looking forward to the creek for miles.  We knew from last year that the cold water would be a welcome relief for our exhausted feet and it was every bit as wonderful as we remembered it.  Blessed cold water!  We waded through the creek for a hundred yards (or was it a thousand?), then we were practically within sight of the finish.  Our friend who’d won the 50M race was at the edge of the woods waving us in!  He high-fived my friend and ran in with us until just before the finish, then told us to take it on in.

The most incredible sight greeted my eyes.  Many of our friends from our running group had run shorter events of the day and had been done for hours.  I thought that there might be a few who’d stick around to see us finish but I didn’t expect the reception we got.  Almost every one of our friends was there lining the finish chute.  Screaming.  Cheering.  Holding out their hands for us to slap as we went by.  For us.  FOR US!  It was almost more happiness than I could bear.  I have the most amazing friends and they made me feel like a rock-star as I crossed the finish line.  My mom was there, too, but I couldn’t find her until after I had gotten my medal and she found me. 

So what does this finish mean to me?  It means that something I thought “impossible” a year ago wasn’t.  It means I’m tougher than I ever gave myself credit for.  It means I want to do this again and do it better.  It means that I get to take a couple of weeks off of training and then I get to do it again as I prepare for Flatrock in September.  It means I have earned my stripes as a trail ultrarunner.  It means that I shouldn’t be afraid to try new things because the only thing holding me back is myself. 

 

 

Some silly stats because I like numbers:

Official finish:  9:05:48.94

My max HR for training:  144

Average HR during the race:  137

Average pace for the race:  17:33

Average pace/HR for the first 20 miles:  17:35/138

Average pace/HR for the last 11 miles:  17:32/136

Number of Ignite Reload Gels eaten:  6 (generally every 6 miles, the last one was 2 miles from the finish)

Weight loss since January 2013:  20 lbs

Spring Training 2013

Five years ago, I volunteered to work a relay station at a trail race called Dances With Dirt Gnawbone.  I had been running for a year and I was intrigued by the idea of trail running.  I was intimidated though and I had no idea how to get started.   I thought volunteering would be a good risk-free way to scope out this activity.  My job was to take down bib numbers as the runners came through, an easy job.  Watching the enthusiasm of the relay runners coming into my exchange station only fueled my desire to be a part of this event someday.  The only thing holding me back was that I was afraid I’d get lost if I ran the course alone.   Last year (2012), my friend and I decided to run the half marathon there together and we had an absolute blast.  It was so much fun that before the race had ended, we’d decided that we’d run the 50k in 2013.  Why?  Because we wanted to make the fun last longer!

As January rolled around, I realized that I had no idea how to train for a 50k but I knew that I needed to buckle down if I was going to do this.  I was terrified, excited, and extremely motivated.  In January, I happened to listen to a Trail Runner Nation podcast about Metabolic Efficiency Training and I was hooked.  This sounded like a method that could work for me!   I completely revamped my nutrition as well as my training methods.   In simple terms, MET is a combination of training at a low heart rate plus the elimination of simple sugars and grains from the diet. The idea is that you train your body to burn fat instead of sugar for the long runs.  This appealed to me on a few levels.  I hoped that it would help me to lose some weight, be better fueled on long runs, and it also gave me some guidelines on pacing.  What I didn’t realize was how good it would make me feel, even when not running.  Recovery from long runs was very quick, my energy level was better, and I felt like my running had taken on a whole new direction.  As luck would have it, my friends training for the 50k had adopted the same training regimen.

In the early weeks of heart rate (HR) training, it was frustrating.  I was shuffling in order to keep that darned HR monitor from going off.  Walkers were passing me.  Literally.  I imagine that I looked ridiculous but I’d been told to expect this and to just be patient.  So I shuffled.   For the first few weeks, I stuck to flat roads or even the indoor track on the nasty days.  Just when I thought I was starting to see improvement, I transitioned back to the trail.  I had to walk every hill.   Every single hill.   I couldn’t take 3 steps on an uphill grade without hearing my HR alarm go off.  So I walked.  And walked.  Sometimes I thought I might have to take a nap right there on the trail to get my HR down, it was that bad.  Insanely frustrating and I admit, I wondered if this was going to work after all.

I think it took about 2 months before I realized things were getting better.  Not in a big way, but I noticed that I’d get farther up a hill before I’d have to walk.  I also noticed that I could feel the change in my legs when I crossed that HR threshold.   I was getting more in tune with my pacing and my body.  As the spring went on, my pace was dropping and the weight was coming off seemingly without effort.  That only served to fuel my motivation and commitment to the training.  As my miles were ramping up, I realized that I wasn’t experiencing the fatigue that had been part of marathon training in the past.  Yes, I was tired, but I wasn’t popping ibuprofen after every run and I’d finish a long run without needing to take a nap to recover.  I was feeling good.  Not just good,  I was feeling better than I’d felt in years.   Magic beans indeed!  I’m just now getting to the point where my HR pace is in line with my pace from last year, but the effort is completely different.  The pace that last fall had me breathless and unable to carry on a conversation is now almost effortless.  I can’t wait to see where the next few months take me.